


gnossienne

by sodonewith_life



Category: Criminal Minds (US TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Angst and Hurt/Comfort, Case Fic, Hurt Aaron Hotchner, Implied/Referenced Character Death, Post-Episode: s05e09 100, Undercover
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-03
Updated: 2021-01-05
Packaged: 2021-03-13 23:41:01
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 8,382
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28536786
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sodonewith_life/pseuds/sodonewith_life
Summary: gnossienne:n. a moment of awareness that someone you’ve known for years still has a private and mysterious inner life, and somewhere in the hallways of their personality is a door locked from the inside, a stairway leading to a wing of the house that you’ve never fully explored—an unfinished attic that will remain maddeningly unknowable to you because ultimately neither of you has a map, or a master key, or any way of knowing exactly where you stand. (The Dictionary of Obscure Sorrows)
Comments: 8
Kudos: 17





	1. I

**Author's Note:**

> don't ask how i thought of this prompt, i can't even remember at this point, but i hope y'all will enjoy it

_“Our agents have already done a great job of isolating this branch. With this recent development, however, your involvement may be incredibly helpful in completely dismantling them.” A short pause, “Should you accept, you would be doing this for at most nine months, but none of us in the task force think you’ll be doing this for more than six.”_

_“Foyet took care of that time issue—permanently. You know that.”_

_“Oh?”_

_“Don’t play dumb. What will my team know?”_

_“You know the protocol. David Rossi will be briefed on the basic information, but only because of your shared history. The rest of your team will be told that you’ve been temporarily reassigned to a task force involved in a classified operation and that you are to have little to no contact with people not in-the-know.”_

_Silence._

_“You do know that the chances of them being brought in because of a related crime or something I’ll have to do are very high.”_

_“The paperwork required for them to be brought in is prepared and ready in a locked drawer.”_

_“And the brass allowed that?”_

_“Sam wasn’t the only one fighting for it. Erin’s relentless bureaucratic nature was particularly effective.”_

_“Strauss, she-?”_

_“Yep. She does like you, you know? Remember your two-week suspension a few years ago? She was hoping you would figure things out with your,” a brief pause, “wife and son.”_

_Heavy silence._

_“You can rest assured that all bases have been thought of and covered, and I’m sure you know that your team will be in good hands.” There was a sigh._

_“The brass has gotten desperate, given that it’s been over two decades of escalation, despite the best efforts of the agents both inside and outside working on isolating and dismantling the group. When this came up, the brass wanted to take complete advantage of it.”_

_“You—the brass knows of the tactics they employ, their M.O. for the more violent crimes, their ‘initiation’ process?”_

_“Yes.”_

_“And they know that I’d probably be at the very least complicit, if not an active participant, in such crimes?”_

_“As I said, they’re desperate. Slightly uncomfortable, yes, but still desperate. Though, you and I both know that your role would not require such depravity against innocents on your part, especially with your skillset and training.” Another pause. “It goes without saying that this will be difficult and high risk, and everyone involved will understand if you decide against doing it.”_

_There was a scoff, then a pause. “You are aware that while my motives for doing so are not insidious, they do not come from a place of altruism.”_

_“I don’t expect them to be.”_

_A longer silence._

_“I’ll do it.”_

~~~

“You’re looking bright right now. You have a date tonight, Morgan?” Prentiss teased tiredly as she, Reid, and Morgan made their way into the almost empty bullpen carrying cups of actually good coffee. 

Morgan snorted. “Yes. With my bed.” Prentiss rolled her eyes, grateful for the levity after having spent a week chasing a child murderer out in Oregon. She shook that thought out of her head, starting her routine scan of the bullpen and surrounding offices as she set her coffee down on her desk. _There’s Reid, there’s Morgan next to me, there’s JJ walking in with Garcia from their offices, Rossi and Hotch—_

“Didn’t Hotch and Rossi get here before us?” she asked, noting the emptiness of their respective offices. The others simultaneously looked up at the senior profilers’ offices and then at the conference room, confirming that yes, they weren’t here.

“They could have already left…?” Reid suggested half-heartedly, clutching to his coffee like a lifeline. 

JJ eyed him skeptically, “Dave? Yes. Hotch? Not likely.”

Whatever discussion that would have ensued was cut off when the glass doors suddenly swung open. The team looked over and watched in silent confusion as their leader strode determinedly towards his office, slamming the door behind him. Rossi, who was behind Hotch, walked in at a slower pace, a grave expression on his visage. 

He paused by the team standing around Reid’s desk, “I’ll explain in a bit.” 

Offering no further explanation, he walked up the stairs and into Hotch’s office. The team watched from outside as Rossi closed the door and blinds, deliberately preventing them from profiling through the window. The group shared a glance before reluctantly drifting away to begin writing up their reports. 

“He got a phone call on the plane earlier, do you think it had something to do with that?” Prentiss leaned back in her chair, tapping a pen on her desk absentmindedly. Her speculative question pulled everyone out of their distracted focus on their work, opening the floodgates for continued discussion. 

They were interrupted when, after twenty-one minutes and seventeen seconds (according to Reid), Rossi opened the door and walked out of Hotch’s office alone, catching the team’s attention. 

“Someone get Garcia and JJ, they need to be here for this.”

Within minutes, the team sans Hotch was assembled in the conference room, facing Rossi. 

“I would like to start off by letting you all know that this is all very sudden and unexpected,” the tension in the room skyrocketed as the profilers recalled the unpleasantness of the last few ‘sudden and unexpected’ events, “but there will be some changes in the BAU for _at most_ ” Rossi made sure to emphasize, “the next nine months.” 

“Is this something to do with Hotch?” Rossi nodded in affirmation, much to the team’s increasing alarm.

“His position in the BAU is not being threatened,” he was quick to reassure them, noting their wariness and remembering the stories he heard about Strauss’s interference a few years ago. “But, as of tomorrow, Morgan will be the acting Unit Chief.”

Morgan reared back in shock as the others all focused on him. “What?” he asked incredulously. “What’s going on with Hotch?”

“Hotch has been temporarily assigned to a task force running a rather sensitive investigation, and he will be out of contact for the next nine months,” Rossi said, taking in the shock and dismay radiating out from the team with a heavy heart while hiding his own worry. 

He turned to Garcia. “And Penelope—well, all of you,” he amended, flicking a serious glance over the rest of the team, “ I have been ordered to tell you that you are not to look into it in any way, shape, or form, at the risk of compromising their security.” 

Prentiss held up a hand. “Hold on, he’s gone for the next nine months, just like that?” she asked as the others remained shell-shocked, trying and failing to imagine the BAU without their boss. 

Rossi didn’t answer, turning away as something in the bullpen caught his attention. The team followed his gaze towards Hotch, who was standing at the top of the steps, his bag over his shoulder and a file box under his arm. They watched through the window as their boss inhaled deeply and swept down the stairs and out of the bullpen without looking back, body taut with tension and expression darker than they’ve ever seen. 

The group continued to stare even after Hotch left their line of sight. “Believe me, this wasn’t a decision he made lightly,” Rossi let out a deep breath and turned back to the team. 

“Why him?” Reid asked quietly. Rossi’s heart ached for the young man, who he knew viewed Hotch as a surrogate father. He met the youngest agent’s gaze with his own grim gaze. “There’s a lot that I don’t know about this situation, and that includes the reasoning behind this. What you know right now is all that I’m allowed to share, and my knowledge doesn’t extend that far beyond all of this.”

It was clear to everyone that they weren’t being told everything, but they recognized the resolute look in the senior profiler’s eyes; they weren’t getting anything out of him. Rossi made sure to make eye contact with each of the team. 

“Hotch is not pulling a Gideon. He will be coming back,” he said strongly, “but in the meantime, we still have jobs to do. I won’t ask you to be completely adjusted and not think about him at all, I just ask that you continue to work hard and do your jobs in Hotch’s absence.”

~~~

“Hey Morgan, can you look over this case?” JJ asked, file in hand and standing in front of Morgan’s desk. 

“Sure,” he replied, quickly finishing a sentence in his notes before looking up and taking the file that was held out for him. Concern slipped over his face as he noted JJ’s uncharacteristically spooked expression. “Something wrong?”

JJ shook her head, watching as he opened the case file. “Um, I’m not sure. I got the call an hour ago and the file was just faxed over. It might just be me, but…” she trailed off as he paused at the pictures of the victims and their information. He looked up, meeting her gaze. 

“You see it too?” she asked, to which Morgan responded with a short nod.

He stood up, gathering the files and walked out of his office, JJ just a step behind him. The two walked into the BAU conference room, gathering Garcia and the other profilers on the way. The liaison waited until the others sat down before presenting the case. A picture of a conventionally attractive young man popped up on the screen.

“Joshua Brentwood: he’s the manager at a Manhattan startup and was found in his apartment just a few hours ago like this,” another picture appeared, causing Garcia to turn away while the others looked on in detached fascination. “But the coroner determined the time of death to be around thirty-six hours ago.”

Rossi quickly did the math. “Early Sunday morning, maybe close to midnight,” he stated, bemused. “And they just found his body?”

“Apparently a coworker went over to check on him because he hadn’t shown up to work at his usual time and called it in,” Reid replied, looking through the file intently.

“There were rose petals scattered all around the bed, and ‘to my dearest’ written on the wall in the victim’s blood,” JJ reported. “No DNA or other trace evidence was found at the scene, the unsub did a pretty good job of cleaning up after themselves.”

Four more photos popped up on the screen. “He was one of five men—a project manager, a marketing manager, and two software engineers—who have been found like this in the past six weeks. Three weeks between the first and second kill, and it’s gotten shorter. The fourth body was found only two days before the most recent victim was killed.”

“Five dead so far with this MO and staging?” Prentiss repeated, “Why weren’t we called in sooner?” JJ shrugged, unsure. 

“Multiple knife wounds to the upper body, cause of death is exsanguination,” Reid mused aloud, looking through the victims’ info. “Relatively large age range but similar physical characteristics, height, body shape, hair color—” He suddenly stopped, separate pieces somehow coming together and forming a strange theory in his mind.

“Um, this…” he began hesitantly, looking at the liaison. “It looks like… ?” JJ nodded, flicking her eyes towards Morgan, who was watching Reid with a carefully blank expression. Prentiss briefly looked up, noting with concern the state of her fellow profilers. It wasn’t long before the dots connected in her head; she felt her mouth open slightly in shock as Garcia inhaled a quick breath.

Rossi cleared his throat, the sound ripping through the silent room, “Physical characteristics of our victims aside, any other similarities?” No one responded, eyes till on the pictures.

“I’ll look into their online lives,” Garcia quickly bowed out of the room for the comfort of her screens. The room was silent as the profilers took in the crime scene photos.

“We’re going to New York,” Morgan’s voice cut through the tension. He looked around at his coworkers. “Meet at the jet in thirty.”

~~~

“Talk to me, Garcia,” Morgan paused in his setting up of the evidence board and turned his attention to their analyst as he answered the call. He was the only one present, JJ being outside talking to the lead agent and the victims’ loved ones. Reid was exploring the two most recent crime scenes with the local agent, and Rossi and Prentiss were meeting with the ME.

“Okay, so local agents have already established that the first four were all at local BDSM clubs the night of their murder. I looked into the most recent victim’s whereabouts, and lo and behold, he was also at a club Saturday night.” She cut him off before he could say anything, holding off his questions. “And yes, the list of clubs is being sent your way right now.”

“You’re a gem, Garcia. Anything else?” Morgan asked, walking over to get the sheet that was coming out of the fax machine.

“Oh, yes. Okay, so I also looked through the security footage that was sent over, and I could only get footage of him coming and leaving, and when he leaves he always disappears somewhere within the block.” Faint sounds of her shifting around in her seat came through the speaker, “I checked the surrounding cameras, and there’s nothing. And the clubs’ security cams are absolute crap, all I can tell you from that is that he is most definitely male and between 5’10 and 6’0.” 

Morgan let out a sigh. “It’s alright, Garcia. Send over the footage after you’ve put it through your programs and continue digging; I’ll call when we get something new.” 

“Garcia out.” He allowed himself a brief huff of amusement before he turned to the evidence board, sobering up as he took in all that they had so far. Failing to keep his mind from straying towards thinking about the strangeness of the MO, he shook his head as he moved to lean against the table, pulling out his phone.

“Rossi. Have you seen Hotch’s scars from Foyet?” His head dropped in resignation as he listened to the other’s answer. “Alright, thanks. Get here as soon as you can.” He dialed another number.

“Reid, you got anything?” His eyebrows flew up as he listened to the chatter from the youngest agent. “Well, hopefully, there’ll be a match in the system. I want you back as soon as you finish up the fourth crime scene,” he moved to hang up, only to pause when Reid asked a question.

Sighing, he answered, “Rossi confirmed it. The first was slightly messy and the last two were quite sloppy, but the general locations match.” He looked up as JJ walked into the room balancing two cups of coffee and a couple of folders in her arms. 

“Alright, I’ll see you two in a bit,” he hung up and turned his attention to JJ. “What’s up?”

“Only one of the victims had any family members nearby,” JJ said, walking over to the table and setting a coffee down next to him. Morgan nodded in thanks as she set her own cup down next to his, “and agents already talked to the coworkers. It seems like they were quite well-liked in the workplace and didn’t have any enemies, though they were highly private and could be classified as workaholics. Neighbors didn’t hear anything,” she finished, biting her lip.

“Go on,” Morgan said, noticing JJ’s hesitation.

She took a deep breath. “If this is going the way it seems to be going, I don’t see a point in talking to them again.” She walked over to the board, tapping a finger on one of the photos. “Exactly nine knife wounds on every victim? And with Rossi’s confirmation about the location of each stab wound…” she swallowed, trying to wrap her head around the mind-boggling situation. “This isn’t a coincidence. There’s not going to be any connection between the victims beyond the obvious; this unsub is probably just looking for surrogates.”

Morgan made a sound of agreement, dropping heavily into a chair behind her, arms crossed. The two silently stared at the board, ignoring the agents outside giving them strange looks. 

“I forgot to ask earlier,” Morgan interrupted the tense silence, “has the press gotten a hold of this yet?”

JJ sighed and nodded, “Agents here managed to keep it quiet for the first two murders, but the story leaked two weeks ago, just after the third.” She eyed Morgan. “Should I hold a press conference?”

“Let’s hold off on that and wait for the others to come back and see what we have,” he decided, standing up. “Given the timeline, the unsub is probably going to kill again very soon, so let’s review the footage and see what comes out of it.”

~~~

“Alright, let’s start with what we know,” Morgan began, looking around the room. “We have five men who went home with our unsub and ended up tied to the bed, gagged, and bleeding to death from nine stab wounds. Garcia ran the security cam footage through her programs, our unsub’s height is likely just under six feet.” He opened his hands in invitation, “What else have we got?”

“The staging, it screams of the unsub demanding someone’s attention,” Reid said absentmindedly. 

“Writing ‘to my dearest’ on the wall in the victim’s blood, gluing the eyelids open and thus forcing the victims to look at him,” Prentiss listed off, continuing his thought process.

“All the victims were stabbed in the same places, and the ME said they were done using the same knife,” Rossi informed the group. “There were no hesitation marks; the unsub is fairly organized. He knew what he was doing, and he’s taken care to leave no trace of himself on the victim or at the scene.”

Prentiss nodded along, “He probably has a criminal history, then. ”

“The last two victims were found in worse shape, however; the stabbings were much messier and the bruises from whatever he was doing were much more severe,” Reid threw in. “That, plus the fingerprint that the crime scene techs found at the end of the message in blood and the significantly shorter cooldown period… ” he looked at the others, “he’s clearly devolving; he’s going to have to kill again, and soon.” 

There was a loaded silence, the profilers not wanting to bring up the element they’ve tried to ignore (despite knowing better but of course, they couldn’t help but want to _ignore—_ ). 

“The rose petals scattered at the scene, the staging, the victimology… ” Morgan trailed off. He shook his head, pushing his feelings aside and biting the bullet, “With nine stab wounds that are eerily reminiscent of what Foyet did to Hotch, it seems like the unsub’s focus is on Hotch, and something happened recently that set the unsub off.”

“But Hotch isn’t here,” JJ stated the obvious as if she was trying to remind them _or herself_ , “He's been away on assignment for the past six months.” 

“The half-mask and slash down the side of the face also don’t make any sense,” Reid remarked, frowning at the pictures. “Is it just a coincidence that every other aspect happens to be a reflection of Hotch, or maybe it’s like a reflection of the unsub themselves so that in the unsub’s mind, they and Hotch are forever connected?” The others were silent as they contemplated the inconsistencies. 

A breath wooshed out of Morgan as he reached for his phone. “Hotch and the unsub have to have crossed paths before. I’m going to have Garcia dig into him,” he said, expecting the noises of protest that erupted around him. He held up a hand, stalling their protest before it went any further.

“I’m open to suggestions if anyone has a better idea,” he said, an eyebrow raised as he dialed her number and put his phone on speaker. No one responded.

“Quantico office of omniscience and excellence, what can I do you for today?” The analyst’s quip with her bright tone coming from the phone’s speakers alleviated some of the tension in the room.

“Hey mama, I hate to ask this of you but I need you to dig into Hotch, particularly his activities since Foyet first attacked him.” The team listened with faint feelings of amusement as the analyst did a double-take, choking on her coffee. There was a moment of silence when she finally calmed down.

“So it’s not a coincidence like I had tried to convince myself?” her voice was quieter, more subdued. 

“I’m afraid not, baby girl,” Morgan said, hoping the nickname would lift her mood somewhat and glad to hear her voice brighten a bit when she responded.

“I’ll get right to it then. Also!” She quickly added, “the fingerprint analysis just came through, and there was a match in the system.” That caught all of their attention as they stood up, preparing to move if they had to.

“Do we have a name?” Prentiss asked.

“Unfortunately no, but I _can_ tell you that it’s popped up in a bunch of crimes in the past decades—”

“What kinds, Garcia?” Rossi cut in.

Garcia hummed, eyes presumably roving across her screens. “Mainly what local PD determined to be drug-related incidents, some murders that went cold… but—and this is interesting—according to the reports, the victims apparently have ties to organized crime.” 

Rossi did a double-take. “Where is the crime centered? Has there been bureau involvement in any of them?” he demanded, leaning forward over the table towards. The others watched, unsure as to what direction he’s going with his questions.

“Um, Brooklyn and Lower Manhattan… and yes the FBI was involved.” The agents watched in confusion as Rossi immediately pulled out his phone.

“I need to make a call,” he sent them a look, quelling their questions. “If I’m right about this, there won’t be any need to give a profile,” he said shortly, rushing out of the room.

The others remained standing, surprised at his abrupt exit. “So, does anyone know what that’s about?” Garcia asked.

JJ shook her head, still staring in the direction Rossi went. “Nope,” she responded, popping the ‘p’.

“Alright then, Garcia, I want you to send over everything you have on the previous crimes,” Morgan hesitated, clearly uncomfortable, “and on Hotch.” She acknowledged the order, hanging up.

Putting his phone away, Morgan turned to the others. “I’ll let Rossi do whatever he’s doing. Reid, JJ, I want you two scouting the area around the victims’ homes; see if you can figure out how he disappeared. Prentiss, you and I are going to take a nice tour of some of the BDSM clubs of the city,” Morgan ordered. 

“We’ll check in in two hours.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> yell at me on my tumblr: @sodone-withlife
> 
> Hope y'all enjoyed this, constructive criticism always welcome!


	2. II

Morgan and Prentiss slumped against the elevator wall, heads tilting back against the wall in exhaustion. “How are you doing?” Prentiss asked, turning her head to look at her fellow profiler.

He raised an eyebrow, scoffing. “Well, considering that my boss seems to be the subject of an obsessive serial killer’s desire, I’d say I’m surprising myself with how calm I am,” he said, matter of fact. She dipped her head in acknowledgment, forcing herself to stand straight as the elevator doors opened. 

“I don’t know if it’s just me, but there’s just something so… off about this whole situation,” Prentiss confessed without expecting an answer. They both were fully aware that she wasn’t just referring to the case. The sudden reassignment had remained a constant topic of conversation over the past months (always away from Rossi, of course, but they were under no illusions that the senior profiler didn’t know what they were talking about). 

The two agents walked out of the elevator in contemplative silence. Morgan scanned the room, noting Reid and JJ deep in discussion and marking places on the map of Lower Manhattan they had up. A movement in his peripheral vision caught his eye. He turned to look, only to stop in his tracks when he saw that Rossi, who was walking in through another door, wasn’t alone. 

“Isn’t that—” Prentiss began in an undertone before getting cut off by Morgan.

“—Charles Fredericks, head of the New York field office?” He finished, “Yep.”

“What’s he doing here?” Prentiss asked under her breath as she and Morgan walked over to Reid, who was also watching the senior agent and the director in open curiosity.

“As I’m sure you know, this is Agent Fredericks, head of this field office,” Rossi introduced. The agents nodded in greeting, only for their carefully blank expressions to turn into one of surprise at his next words. “It seems like our case is connected to an active investigation into a local offshoot of a weakening transnational criminal enterprise.”

Before any of the Quantico agents could ask, Fredericks raised a reassuring hand. “Don’t worry, you are not being sent away,” he said, but the team remained tense, sensing a caveat. “I do have to ask that, even if you have an opportunity to do so, you do not go after the unsub.”

“What?” Prentiss stepped forward, catching the agent’s attention. 

The director didn’t reply; he only exchanged a look with Rossi and motioned for the team to follow him as he turned and began to walk away. The profilers shook themselves out of their shocked stupor and followed, exchanging loaded glances with each other and quietly speculating as to what could be going on.

~~~

Reid closed the door behind him before moving to sit at the table in one of the secured conference rooms. Each agent, sans Rossi, had a file and pen in front of them and was directing their focus at Fredericks, who sat at the head of the table with a stack of thinner files next to him and trying not to show his discomfort under the sharp eyes of the profilers.

“I don’t believe I will have to introduce the protocol regarding active undercover operations?” Fredericks checked. Despite their rising confusion, the profilers voiced their affirmation as he stood up, file in hand. 

“As Dave alluded to earlier, your investigation has led you to a man deeply entrenched in a local branch of a transnational criminal enterprise, one that the bureau and other agencies have been tracking and working on eliminating for decades,” he motioned towards the files on the table. The profilers took the invitation and began to flip through, taking in the basic rundown of the branch’s activities that were listed inside—all involving rather brutal, but rather forensically clean crime scenes. 

“Richards?” Reid said out loud, musingly, “no first name?” Fredericks didn’t answer, remaining unwaveringly silent.

“He started as a standard low-level member and eventually got to taking care of the dirty work the people at the top didn’t want to do,” Prentiss said, brow furrowed. She looked up, “He was in a good position, so why did he go rogue and start killing?”

“Seven months ago, the head of the enterprise died, likely of cardiac arrest. Soon after, his son,” no one missed how Fredericks shot a quick glance at Rossi, “who dropped off our radar twenty-two years ago, resurfaced and took over. Since then, it seems like the new head’s been completely restructuring the enterprise, particularly its membership and structure. This whole affair” The agent dipped his head at the profilers, “seems to be Richards basically throwing a deadly juvenile tantrum because he went from being a feared enforcer to being disregarded by the highest echelons of this local enterprise.”

“And you know all this… how?” Morgan asked in disbelief, though not about the unsub’s motives: they’ve all come across this type (and stranger) before. “There’s no way your undercovers could be in positions that make them privy to this information, not even if they’ve been under for a decade.” 

To the team’s increasing suspicion, the agent shot another glance at Rossi, who met his gaze with an indecipherable stare.

“That I cannot tell you at the moment.” 

“There’s the resemblance to our boss, SSA Hotchner, and you said seven months?” Morgan pressed. “Is this what Hotch has been working on?” 

Fredericks’s stare didn’t waver, though they all didn’t miss how he shifted in his seat as he dodged the questions. “What I can say, and with complete certainty, is that it will be quiet tonight. Richards will not murder anyone tonight—”

“With all due respect,” Reid cut in, “it’s impossible to know anything for certain. Statistically, there’s always going to be some—” he turned faintly pink as he was cut off by a poorly-suppressed cough from JJ. “How can you be so sure?” he asked, keeping it short.

This time, Rossi answered. “While you guys were out visiting the clubs and the victims’ neighborhoods, I was meeting with Charles,” he acknowledged the agent with a look in his direction, “and the agent heading the field ops. And yes,” he said, sensing the questions his colleagues were about to bombard him with, “I promise I will explain, but right now is really not the best time for that.”

Despite hating that they weren’t being told everything, the profilers recognized the need for efficiency and kept silent to Rossi’s approving nod, settling with speculating within their own minds.

“I explained the fuller details of the case to them,” he continued, “and it was decided that we would send the case file and our notes to one of the lucky undercovers who managed to get to a position that made them privy to helpful information. They got back to us with their input within an hour, and after surprisingly little discussion, it was determined that you would be briefed on the situation as it is,” he finished.

Fredericks took over, meeting each team member’s critical eye. “Your technical analyst, Ms. Garcia, has been briefed a short time ago and has started working with our other techs in digging into the members of this enterprise. You would be acting as backup in a field operation,” he didn’t mention his expectation that the firepower they’d provide would end up being unnecessary, “and, in the future, we may request some consults.”

“How so?” Morgan asked.

“In a few hours,” Fredericks began, distributing the thinner folders that had been stacked in front of his seat, “there will be three ‘business meetings’ across Lower Manhattan and one date.” He ignored the strange looks that his phrasing earned him.

“These ‘business meetings’ are when three high-level members—‘enforcers,’ basically—check in on the mid-level members and their activities. There is a ten minute time interval during which these meetings are most vulnerable,” Fredericks watched the profilers rifle through the newest folder, “and in previous raids, that is when we moved in. This time, however, we’re moving in as soon as we get confirmation that the members are all present.” 

“What’s so different about this time?” JJ asked cautiously.

“Assuming that it goes as expected, this will be the last raid that bureau agents will be involved in,” the agent explained. “Over the past few months, we’ve been able to catch a number of members and shut down quite a few operations. From here on out, NYPD will be tying up the loose ends and we will be only peripherally involved.” 

Rossi, who was only now learning this much about the investigation, looked up from his perusing, a strange glint in his eye, “You said a date?”

Fredericks’s reaction—an amused snort—surprised them. “Truthfully, ‘date’ is the last word I’d use to describe it, but that’s what he insisted on calling it,” he pointedly ignored the curiosity he could feel pouring off the profilers. He let out a pained half-smile, “There wasn’t a strong reason to say no, especially given his history.” Rossi nodded in understanding, also ignoring the insatiable interest of the profilers.

The director refocused on the team, sensing their curiosity. “While not normal protocol, we have someone in deep cover at the top of the local branch who has a history with your unsub.” Here he hesitated, and the profilers immediately picked up on his discomfort, quickly realizing that they would not like what the agent was holding back. They watched as Fredericks inhaled deeply, bracing himself.

“He also happens to be the object of your unsub’s attention.”

The room was dead silent as the profiling team took in the statement. Three seconds ticked away before the room exploded with noise.

“Hotch?” “How the hell is Hotch involved?” “Hotch’s here?”

“Rossi, did you know?” At Reid’s question, the team went silent, turning their focus onto Rossi. Normally able to maintain his composure while having numerous sets of eyes staring at him, he couldn’t help but shift under the angry focus of the people he’s grown to be so fond of. 

“Yes,” he confessed, then raised his voice to be heard over the indignant reactions. “But  _ only _ that he would be deep undercover as part of an active investigation into a criminal enterprise here in Manhattan.”

That did nothing to lessen their anger. “You looked like you knew what the director was talking about when he talked about the Hotch’s history with the unsub,” JJ pointed out. “What else do you know that we don’t?” she asked.

“We have anticipated the possibility of having this team join the investigation the moment we heard of the developments seven months ago, ”Fredericks intervened on Rossi’s behalf, relieving him from the heated stares he was getting from the team. “However, there is information that you have not yet been cleared to know, and it is Agent Hotchner’s decision and his prerogative to tell you, should he wish to do so.” 

“I get that you’re angry, believe me, I do,” Rossi spoke emphatically, “but I ask that you respect Hotch’s decisions. This assignment…” he sighed, feeling a pang in his heart for the man he took under his wing and brought over from Seattle all those years ago. He looked around at the profilers, watching as they softened, the angry light in their eyes still present but dimming, hoping that all would turn out well. 

“He knew this assignment would dredge up painful memories, but this was also an opportunity for him to permanently get rid of some of the demons that have dogged his step since he was fifteen.”

~~~

“Do we know what to expect here?” Morgan asked Rossi quietly. The profiling team was in the backroom of the rooftop bar watching the footage captured by the surveillance cameras—which were also being monitored by Garcia down in Quantico, ensuring their functionality—while JJ was outside playing the nervous bartender to the lone customer: a visibly tense, professionally-dressed man in his mid-fifties with a gun poorly hidden under his suit jacket.

Rossi shook his head, allowing uncertainty to creep into his expression. “I doubt Fredericks knows, either, but he probably has a better guess given that he’s been overseeing the investigation and only sent us in for this one.” When asked about SWAT support, the agent had only given them a loaded look and shook his head.

“Guys, movement on camera 3,” Garcia’s voice filtered through their earpieces, directing their attention to the said camera, which had a clear view of the elevators and lobby area. 

“Is that Hotch?” They watched in stunned silence as a tall, lean, dark-haired man walked out from an elevator and into the lobby. They noticed a scar running up the left side of his face, one that was at least partially hidden by a thick scarf that covered the bottom half of his face. Like the other customer, he was dressed professionally, wearing a black on black suit under a long overcoat. 

Having not seen him in over six months, they didn’t try to suppress the instinct to profile the man who, despite the noticeable changes, they easily recognized as their boss. Six pairs of eyes followed Hotch’s movements: four from the back room, one in her office two-hundred and sixty miles south of Manhattan, and the other from the bar, trying to act as if she’s never seen him.

There was a new darkness in his gaze, even as they briefly lit up in surprised recognition when they landed on the blonde before reverting to the hard impassiveness when he took the seat next to the other customer—Richards, the unsub. Hotch carefully placed his hand just over Richards’s, who tensed even more, though now in anticipation. 

“What can I get for you today, sir?” JJ asked, her surprisingly steady voice cutting through the silence of the rooftop bar above the city. 

Hotch rearranged his scarf, the dim lighting of the bar putting the whole of the jagged scar on his face on full display. JJ couldn’t help but stare, her mind immediately jumped to the worst possibilities as she wondered how he got that scar.

“A vodka martini, extra dry and two olives, please,” he requested smoothly, bringing her back into the present. She froze as the weight of his stare suddenly landed on her and he pointedly sent a look towards the back room before refocusing his heavy gaze on the unsub. 

“I’m sorry. I—I don’t think there are olives ready here at the moment,” she made up on the spot, getting his message. “I’ll, um,” she motioned towards the back room, allowing some of her nervousness to show, “go get them from the back,” she finished. Fleetingly glancing at Hotch as she made to walk to the back, she was relieved to see him give her a barely perceptible nod of approval.

Shutting the door behind her, JJ allowed herself a second to let go of the tension within her after having remained wound up while watching the unsub who, in his obsessive desire, had assaulted and stabbed five people. She shot a fleeting smile towards Reid, who had noticed her hidden agitation and was looking at her in concern, before taking off her blazer and moving to pull on a kevlar vest over her button up. 

“He’s changed,” JJ said quietly, moving to watch the two men at the bar sit in silence on the screens. “Colder,” she elaborated when the profilers looked at her in question. 

“Knowing what we’ve been told about the people involved in this group?” Reid murmured. “Spending even a month with them is bound to change anyone, and Hotch has been under for over half a year.”

They lapsed into silence when Hotch stood up and turned to casually lean backward on the bar, deftly reaching under the left side of unsub’s suit jacket. The unsub didn’t tense, didn’t move, as Hotch pulled back with a gun in his hand.

“I paid the hotel to open up their seasonal rooftop bar  _ for you _ , and you bring a gun,” Hotch’s amused, almost offended baritone was picked up by the hidden microphones and came through their earpieces as he smoothly unloaded the gun on camera. “Should I be worried?”

“What can I say, Adrian,”  _ Adrian _ ; the agents’ minds whirled with possibilities. “I’ve been waiting for so long, I don’t want anything ruining this,” the team watched as the unsub finally looked up and moved closer to Hotch, unable to hide the greed with which he took in the taller man’s form.

“It’s impressive, Elijah,” Hotch offered, impassive as ever, though the unsub— _ Elijah _ Richards, apparently—didn’t look disappointed at the lack of any emotional reaction. “Last time I had a direct conversation with you was what, when I was fifteen and you were twenty-two, right? The day before I found out that my mother was dying of lung cancer.”

Elijah nodded vigorously, exceedingly happy to hear that he was remembered. “Yes, yes, yes. Twenty-two years ago, over your winter break. You remember that night in your room, our first time?” he asked eagerly. 

The team listened with increasing horror and steady, boiling anger. Rossi, trying his hardest to not run out there and shoot the bastard in the face there and then, focused on Hotch, who remained impressively stoic—apart from the eyes that darkened even more—in the face of the delusions coming out Elijah’s mouth. 

Out of nowhere, his affect smoothly shifted towards a suggestiveness the team had never seen before. “I do, I remember very well,” he hesitated as if he was nervous about what he was about to say. 

“You should know, I came back to take over because of  _ you _ ,” he said quietly like he was confessing a secret. “But my father left behind such a mess, and I had to clean everything up,” Hotch shifted closer to the other man, allowing his voice to soften as he brushed the other’s arm, “I really am sorry I haven’t been able to talk to you sooner.”

In the backroom, the profilers were filled with silent disgust as they watched Elijah’s expression light up with dreamy delight. 

Hotch kept the act for a few moments—which, to the high strung profilers, felt like hours—before he suddenly shifted again, dropping all pretenses and letting his expression contort with cold rage within seconds.

“I remember you so vividly. You started out ingratiating yourself with prepubescent boys, seeing yourself as their protector—probably a remnant of your childhood, am I right?” Dark eyes carefully took in the other’s every expression and microexpression, “Your father probably did the same thing to you when you were a child.”

Elijah’s dreamy expression slowly turned lucid as he listened to Hotch dissect his psyche, word by word. “You probably would have gone on sticking with grooming your younger brother and his friends,” the agent continued, “but then my  _ dearest  _ father decided it was time to bring in his eldest. And suddenly, you had a young boy put under your tutelage, one you decided to groom and take advantage of.”

Moving closer to the man, Hotch allowed some seething rage to bleed into his voice. “You assaulted me, physically and sexually, for seven years straight under the pretense of ‘training’ me because you wanted to ‘take care’ of me,” Garcia let out a soft, tearful sound as the others listened, frozen in horror. 

“Fine. That, I could have taken care of alone. But,” Hotch’s voice was frigid, colder than the profilers have ever heard it be, “you started beating  _ my little brother _ to the point of unconsciousness in front of me, year after year until he finally fell into a coma after one of your assaults when he was  _ eight _ and woke up months later an amnesiac.” 

Elijah’s dreamy expression slowly shifted into one of dark, manic anger as he listened to Hotch pull apart his fantasy with every word that came out of his mouth. Reaching his breaking point, he suddenly turned in his seat and lunged at the other man, prompting the team to leap up and rush out into the bar, guns drawn and prepared to fire if it became necessary as the two men crashed onto the ground. 

They couldn’t do anything, however, even as the unsub managed to pull a knife from somewhere and slashed at Hotch, who had also pulled out a knife and was fighting back with equal fervor. Neither of them paid any attention to the other agents—Elijah because he didn’t notice them, and Hotch because he knew them and the protocol well enough to know that they wouldn’t be physically interfering. The once-quiet bar became filled with grunts and hisses of pain as the two men landed hits and slashes onto the other.

Though protocol dictates that they should be attempting to de-escalate the situation, none of the profilers could find it within themselves to try and do so—not only because they were admittedly very drawn into the fight, which consisted of an amalgamation of dirty tactics and well-trained strikes, but also because they knew there was no chance of the situation de-escalating, no matter how many different negotiation tactics they could try. The chances that interrupting a fight between a very devolved suspect and a laser-focused agent with a personal vendetta would have even not negative results were basically nil.

The profilers, tensed and ready, watched as Hotch was knocked to the ground and lost his grip on his knife but managed to disarm his opponent in the process. Elijah was in too deep to care, as he nevertheless lunged forward with deadly intent. The profilers quickly brought their guns up and aimed at him, shouts to stop just on the tip of their tongues, when the sound of a suppressed gunshot ripped through the air. 

Elijah jerked and managed to stumble a few steps backward before his legs gave out, a sudden feeling of numbness spreading out from his upper abdomen. He reflexively placed a hand over where it felt like it starting from, only to bring it back in front of his eyes when he felt something wet and warm touch his fingers. Elijah looked blankly at the blood on his hand and then at Hotch who was getting up from the ground, gun still in his hand and aimed towards the injured man. 

“You know, I was content with letting things play out, letting the feds take care of you and send you to rot in prison,” Hotch knelt down, kicking the knives near them even further away. Somewhere, in the back of Elijah’s mind, he wondered in betrayed confusion as to what was going on.

(— _ why did you do this to me? I did everything for you—) _

“But then I found out about all of the other people you just had to assault and murder over the years in an attempt to play out your  _ disgusting _ fantasies, and now in a desperate attempt to get the slightest amount of my attention.” His sight blurred, his surroundings darkening as he began to lose the fight against the tantalizing nothingness that threatened to engulf him. 

“Well,” the dark baritone whispered into his ear, “you’ve gotten it.”

~~~

He leaned back, uncaring of the blood that was surely staining his suit, which had already been ruined by the knife fight just minutes before. Slowly, methodically, he placed two fingers at the neck, feeling for a pulse that wasn’t there. His gaze didn’t waver from the slowly cooling body that was slumped in front of him, blood pooling on the ground surrounding the torso, not even as he registered the sound of guns being put away and of multiple footsteps slowly walking in his direction. 

“Hotch?” He looked behind him at the men and women slowly approaching him as if he were a dangerous animal, their expressions a strange amalgamation of wariness, worry, and relief. He remained silent, his ever-keen eyes roving across the people he hadn’t communicated with or seen in over half a year, picking out the subtle details and changes that have accumulated in his absence.

Somewhere, deep in the dark recesses of his mind, he felt something slowly pushing its way out from behind the barriers he had erected and continuously reinforced after that meeting seven months ago.  _ No _ , he thought,  _ not right now.  _ He pushed it down for what felt like the millionth time since he first heard that the BAU had been officially brought in on this case and turned away, standing up and looking out over the lights of the city.

The darkness that had been at the edge of his sight for seven months straight didn’t recede, even as Rossi carefully moved to place his hand on his shoulder. He had to suppress an instinctual urge to melt into the warm touch he had been craving for so long, remaining still and meeting the senior agent’s gaze—in which he saw no judgment, no fear—with his own flat one. 

“He’s the last one,” the dark undertone his voice had gained during the seven months of deep-cover was still present. “With the raids that have probably just happened, he’s the last one.” There was a barely discernible shake in his tone, one that Rossi, with his history with the younger man, immediately identified along with the blank look in his eyes that indicates the start of a retreat deep into his mind. 

Making a quick decision, the senior agent carefully moved to wrap his arm around the younger’s torso and began to gently guide him towards the exit, motioning for the other stupefied agents to stay behind. On the way to the elevators, the duo passed the crime scene techs that came at Morgan’s all clear and were hurrying to the body behind them.

The two agents rode the elevator down in silence, the senior keeping a careful eye on the younger, who was trying to regain some semblance of outward stability before leaving the premises of the hotel. By the time the elevator dinged on the ground floor, the raging storm inside him had been once again suppressed.

As the elevator door slid open in the underground hotel parking garage, Rossi was both relieved and worried to see that Hotch didn’t make a move to shake off Rossi’s arm or to protest his presence. He let the younger man lead the way to a black Mercedes parked near the wall of the garage but forced him into the passenger’s seat before the senior agent entered on the driver’s side and put on his own seatbelt. 

“Where to?” Rossi asked softly, gently, once in the car. The younger man shook himself from his near dissociative state and quietly rattled off an address which the older man input in the GPS. The car ride was spent in heavy silence, Rossi still sending Hotch discerning looks while he weaved through New York traffic. 

~~~

“Adrian Roan Hendrickson.” 

“What?” Prentiss looked at Hotch, confused. “Who’s that?”

“That’s your real name, isn’t it?” Rossi answered in a question directed at the unit chief, who nodded in affirmation. It had been a few weeks since New York; they had spent that time in a strange sort of limbo, wanting to interrogate Hotch but also wanting to respect his privacy. 

“Much of everything else you know about my history is still true,” he said quietly, not looking at any of the other profilers in the jet. “But as far as I’m concerned, Adrian Hendrickson died three weeks ago.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> yell at me on my tumblr: @sodone-withlife
> 
> If it wasn't clear in the exchange in the beginning, in this AU, Foyet kills Haley and Hotch still kills Foyet, but Foyet (somehow, let's just ignore this plot hole because how could Foyet know about the hiding place but, again, pretend the hole doesn't exist please and thank you) managed to severely hurt Jack before Hotch actually got to the house. Hotch went to the hiding place, and found Jack near death and bleeding out in his arms (woohoo we love the hurt and angst). It's not that relevant to the story, but I'd like to think that's why he accepted the assignment so easily.
> 
> Anyway, this is all I have for this story, so I hope you've enjoyed reading it. Constructive criticism is welcome, as always. 
> 
> Have a great day and stay safe, everyone!


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